


Puppy On Board

by nirejseki, robininthelabyrinth (nirejseki)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Gen, M/M, Puppies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-06-09 08:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15263790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/robininthelabyrinth
Summary: In which life is Big, and Tough, and Extremely Frustrating - but mostly because Len is currently a goddamnpuppy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday gift to ice-whisper. Posting onto Ao3 as its own fic because I'm very likely going to continue this.

His eyes don’t open right, that’s the thing that really annoys him.

He’s a thief, a liar, a murderer, a _supervillain_ – 

And he can’t open his goddamn eyes.

He makes – and he’s ashamed to admit it – a sad mewling sound of intense frustration.

“Awwww, lookit him,” someone coos. Their breath stinks of fish. It’s not a bad smell, to be fair, but it’s very fishy. “He’s scowling!”

Len manages to crack open his eyes.

Oh. It’s _them_ again.

His jailors.

His owners. 

His - _humans_.

Because Len is currently a goddamn _puppy_. 

And here Len always thought he was more of a cat person. Or maybe a mongoose, since that’s what he kept getting on the What Daemon Would You Have quizzes that Mick keeps insisting he take so that Mick can laugh at him later. 

(Mick always gets, like, a bear. That’s respectable. Why can’t Len be a bear?)

But no. 

Len’s a puppy.

Sometimes Len really wants the Oculus to go die in a fire even more than it has already. What’s the point of negotiating a second chance at life with the incarnation of Death if your second life ends up, well, like _this_?

He’s tried to make a break for it three times now, but the first time he just ended up splayed out on the floor a few feet away and whining sadly because his legs had given out, the second time he’d started freezing to death (how was he supposed to know that puppies couldn’t control their own body temperature as babies?!), and the third time he’d been nabbed by one of the owners when he was halfway to the door. 

They’d then dubbed him “Mr. Grumpyface”. 

If that stuck, Len is going to bite someone.

As soon as his teeth grow in the rest of the way, anyway. 

In the meantime, he’s being treated to another comforting set of licks by his mom, who worries about him – no, damnit, not his mom. And it’s not comforting! 

Listen, he’s got a strong set of puppy instincts to contend with that keep overwhelming his good human sense. It’s not his fault. Especially since he can’t communicate in anything other than barks or whimpers or whines or the occasional mournful howl. 

Damnit, it’s been nearly two weeks days; he ought to be big enough to make his escape by now!

Ugh.

At least his eyes are opening more consistently. 

He grumbles.

“So cuuuuuuute,” the person coos. 

Len throws himself sideways in despair.

His mom (not his mom) licks at him again and grumbles herself at the humans until they go away, distracted by other things.

Len sighs.

He just wants _out_ of here. Is that too much to ask?

It’s not like this is even a proper household; it’s clearly some sort of breeding place, or maybe a foster care, or something. 

Still.

He wants out. 

He wants out _now_.

His mom suddenly heaves a great big old sigh of her own and stands up, shaking off some of his – he refuses to call them ‘siblings’ – some of the other puppies. 

He blinks up at her, wondering where she’s going, since it’s not feeding time or walking time or anything, but then she grabs him by the back of the neck – ugh, he can feel his legs all going limp in automatic response – and carries him away at a brisk trot.

Len growl-whimpers, which is his best attempt to ask where they’re going in a language he doesn’t speak because dogs and puppies don’t actually speak and his human brain is interfering with him actually using body language the way they do, but his mom doesn’t give him an answer.

The answer, however, comes quickly: they’re going Outside.

Outside!

Len likes Outside. It’s closer to Escape.

His mom plops him down right at the edge of the garden, which is nice, and he starts trying to get up and zoom out of there, if by zoom one means staggering drunkenly and pathetically tripping over his own paws like a…well, like a two-week-old puppy.

His mom seems to be watching him with some measure of concern.

He wonders if she thinks he’s crazy.

He wonders if he _is_ crazy, by dog terms. Or, for that matter, by human terms.

That’s when he smells it.

Denim and lighter fluid and old-fashioned ink and plastic and skin and –

_Mick!_

Len howls frantically.

Mick is nearby, _Mick is nearby_ , and he’s stuck here on puppy legs that barely work and he’s going to _miss him_ and Mick’s going to _go away_ and then Len’ll be _stuck here forever_ and -!

His mom grabs him again.

No!

_His Mick is nearby!_

But his mom doesn’t take him back inside the house the way he’s expecting her to; instead, she actually pushes her way _through_ the garden hedge – he’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to do that, and she’s been Trained, unlike him – and starts trotting down the street.

 _Towards_ the Mick-smell.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!

(Maybe she does understand Len a little bit after all.)

And maybe Len can’t get his eyes to focus right, but his nose is great at supplementing it, so he can see-smell it when they find Mick. He’s with a group of other humans – the scents are less familiar, but he sees someone wearing something absolutely colorless, without any grey at all, not that he could see color even if his eyes could open, but the combination of something colorless and the faint smell of death means he assumes that must be Sara – and they’re walking away.

Away! No!

Len opens his mouth to howl a protest, only for his mom to give him a firm shake.

He whimpers instead.

But it turns out his mom’s right, because this way they can follow the group without being noticed and then a doorway opens out of nowhere – it’s the Waverider! It’s the freaking Waverider! – and they all walk on.

Len _needs_ to get onto that ship.

His mom trots forward to the very edge of the door and puts him down on the ramp.

Len rolls over and looks at her.

He feels a bit bad now, actually. She did all of this to get him here and he’s just leaving her behind…

She gives a quiet bark of encouragement and nudges him forward.

He licks her back for the first time ever – a sign of his gratitude – and turns towards the ship, making his staggering and shivering way on board and in the direction he thinks Mick’s quarters are. He’s going to find Mick and Mick will find a way to help him and it’ll all be okay.

He makes it most of the way there before the ship takes off with a start that sends him tumbling tail-over-nose, whimpering at the unfamiliar sensation of turbulence the whole time, and suddenly there are warm hands cupping him and lifting him up.

“Holy crap,” Mick says, peering down at him. “There’s a _puppy_ on board.”


	2. 2

Listen, getting to the ship was hard work, okay?

So _yes_ , Len spends a lot of his time asleep, but, to be fair, he is a very young puppy whose mother just dropped him off all alone, and also Mick has extremely soft hands and a nice warm belly that he holds Len against while he’s arguing with all the other Legends about whether or not he gets to keep the puppy and whether or not this counts as a 'souvenir' the way his other trinkets do.

It’s okay. Len has confidence that Mick will win this argument.

When Mick starts really getting into it – waving his hands around and all (and something about a rat? possibly ghosts? Len might have misheard, but with the Legends, you never really know) – Len shuffles himself around with the intention of getting down onto the floor so he doesn’t get dropped, but next thing he knows he’s sliding down Mick’s side towards a floor that is _definitely further away than he remembers it being_.

Some panicked scrambling with his little good-for-nothing claws that give him basically zero hold later, he ends up dropping with a distinct plop sound into the depths of Mick’s roomy jacket pocket.

Huh.

Not a bad place for a nap. 

Just a quick one, though; Mick might need his help to make the Legends stop bitching.

…no pun intended.

Hmm. There’s an unexplored possibility for dog-related puns here. Len will have to consider it.

After a short nap.

(Damn puppy instincts!)

Sure enough, by the time he wakes up, Mick’s about three seconds away from strangling Ray with a threatening “If you took the puppy away while I wasn’t looking, Haircut –” so in the interests of preserving peace, Len pops his head up.

“Puppy!” one of the new girls – Zari, he thinks? – shouts.

“Where?!”

“Pocket!”

“…what?”

“Mick’s pocket.”

They all look to where Zari’s pointing. 

“Oh,” Mick says, and drops Ray. “Good. I’m taking him back to my room.”

“Get him checked out for fleas first,” Sara says with a moue of distaste.

Len barks at her, injured. He does not have _fleas_. What the hell, Sara? He thought they were friends. Or at least something like that.

“And maybe get him neutered,” she adds mercilessly.

Oh, he is going to do something _very_ nasty to her for that one. 

Sadly, though, in the state he's in right now, his options might be limited to doing his business in her shoes or something juvenile like that. 

“I don’t really believe in neutering,” Mick says, pulling Len out of his pocket and putting him on top of the console so everyone can look at him with greater ease. “Seems mean.”

Thank God for good old Mick.

“I’m sure Gideon can do it painlessly, even reversibly,” Ray says. “And really, I've heard it’s much better for dogs, personality-wise and health-wise.”

Oh, look, Len’s added another name to his brand new shit list. 

“I don’t think we need to worry about that until he’s a bit older, guys,” the other girl, Amaya, says, not doing a great job of hiding a smile. “He’s only a puppy. You don’t neuter a dog before six months at the very least, and based on the trouble the puppy’s having with his eyes, I’d guess he’s a week, two weeks, max. Plenty of time.”

This one, this one can stay. Len approves of this one.

Anyway, six months ought to be enough time for Len to do things like see and move under his own power (maybe even use a pen or a keyboard or maybe a freaking Scrabble board, he doesn't even care at this point as long as it means he successfully conveys what he means), and that in turn means he’ll be able to make his feelings about castration _very clear_ by that point. 

Len tries to say as much, even via pointless yipping, but about halfway through his speech he's caught by a great big yawn that reminds him that it's been a good five minutes since he last closed his eyes for a nap and maybe he should consider doing that again, being as he has had a very Exciting But Tiring day.

Stupid puppy instincts. How is he supposed to communicate with anyone if he keeps falling asleep?

On the bright side, the yawn is apparently the key to make all the Legends - even the evil wretched pro-castration ones - start cooing at him.

"Are you tired, wittle one?" the kind of frat-bro-ish-looking one (Nate?) says, crouching down to get closer to eye level with Len. "Yes you _are_ , aren't you?"

"He _is_ cute, isn't he?" Sara concedes. "And since _apparently_ Gideon can't figure out what era he's from -"

"As I said, Captain Lance, the puppy appears to have absorbed sufficient temporal radiation that none of my sensors are capable of picking up anything else," Gideon says, a little disapprovingly. She never did like her competence being questioned.

Guess that kills the "have Gideon verify my identity" plan Len had been half-hoping for. Oh, well.

Also, Captain? He's not sure when that happened, but good for Sara. 

Good for the team, too - no question that she's a vast improvement over Rip "I learned my leadership skills from Han Solo" Hunter.

Yes, Len is a little bitter. 

Not as much as he might've expected, though - he personally doesn't _remember_ much time between the Oculus exploding and waking up as a puppy, but he's distinctly aware, somehow, that significant time has passed, at least two years or so. He doesn't know how he knows this, but yadda yadda time heals all wounds, something like that. 

Whatever.

Len keeps grudges like they're the only property he owns.

Wait.

He's a puppy.

They _are_ the only property he owns. 

So, there.

Ray sneezes suddenly.

Len is never going to admit this happened, but the loud, sudden noise comes out of nowhere and he ends up scrambling around in a blind panic until Mick starts petting his head to calm him down.

(He's said it before, he'll say it again: stupid puppy instincts. Also, why is Ray so large? Does he really need all that lung capacity, given that he apparently uses it for the sole purpose of frightening fragile puppies?)

"Ray, you're sure you'll be okay..?" Amaya asks, a little concerned.

"Yeah, don't worry," Ray says. "As long as he doesn't come into my room too much, I'll be fine with the anti-allergy meds that Gideon produces. It isn't as severe as my thing with cats, anyway."

Wait, Ray's allergic?

Clearly Len is going to have to spend some quality shedding time in his room.

(Time has _not_ healed the wounds of Ray's neutering comment.)

"I guess we've got a new mascot, then," Sara decides, which causes some of the Legends to cheer. "Now we just need to decide where he's going to stay - and who's going to take primary care of him -"

Len yips and scrambles back towards Mick, very nearly tripping over his over-large floppy ear in the process.

Mick, simultaneously, snarls, "What do you mean, 'who'? I found him, he's mine."

Good old Mick.

"And he seems to like you best, too," Zari says with a smirk. 

"Are you sure, Mick?" Amaya asks. "He's very small - he'll probably need to be hand-fed milk -"

Len will _not_!

...okay, maybe - just maybe - he will, he thinks after he tentatively gnashes his teeth and finds them very soft. Goddamn milk teeth.

To be fair, he's only had milk up until this point, but that's because his mom was available and obviously you don't waste money on buying puppy food if the mom's right there, but surely if he _tried_...

 _Ugh_.

"I'll handle it," Mick says. "It's fine. C'mon, pup, up you go."

He can fit Len's entire body into one palm, which Len should really not find as comforting as he does. 

If it was anyone else, Len would be stressed out beyond all belief about the possibility of them closing their hand into a fist, shattering all of his delicate bones with a sickening crunch, but this is _Mick_. He wouldn't, even without knowing that it's Len.

Mick's always been good people. 

Mick takes him to the kitchen, rather than his room, which is a bit of a surprise, though that surprise fades when Mick puts him on the counter and starts making a sandwich.

A sandwich that smells _delicious_.

Yes please!

Len clambers to his paws and makes a move - a slow, shambling move, but a move nonetheless - for some of the ham.

(What? He never claimed to be a good Jew.)

He's just about to clamp his jaw down on the edge when he gets lifted up, up, and away by the scruff of his neck. 

Nooooo, the ham!

"Not for you," Mick, who was lifting him, says.

Len is very seriously considering retracting that earlier comment about Mick being good people. He's hungry, damnit.

"You can growl at me all you like, but you're not getting ham yet," Mick says. "It'll do bad things to your stomach."

Mick says the same thing about street fair corndogs, so he clearly has no idea what he's talking about.

Len snaps his jaws a little.

" _No_ ," Mick says firmly.

 _Fine_.

But only because Len has a weakness for Mick being all stern and commanding.

Len wonders if he can still convey that he's hungry. He doesn't actually know how to communicate in puppy - he's going to have to try what he knows from being human, despite currently being about ten inches long and being held a good foot off the table.

He whines, long and low, and gives Mick his best puppy dog eyes.

...huh, there's almost no change from his usual "Miiiiiick, feed me!" routine as a human.

What that says about him, Len doesn't know and isn't thinking about.

"Don't worry, you'll get yours," Mick says. " _After_ I eat my sandwich."

Fair enough. Mick's stomach has always been bigger than Len's.

Actually, Mick's stomach might in fact currently be _literally_ bigger than Len is right now.

Len yips in agreement and, wonder of wonders, Mick puts him down. "Now, stay," Mick says, and takes the sandwich with him to go look in the fridge, muttering something incomprehensible to himself.

Now, Len might be a puppy, but he's a Strong Puppy That Don't Take No Orders, so obviously he goes sniffing at everything left on the kitchen table, because seriously if there is one thing he _really_ likes about being a dog, it's the sense of smell.

Everything smells _so good_.

Even smells he previously thought were awful - Mick's socks, for one thing - are actually very intriguing. There's a layered sort of effect to the smells, something that translates almost as emotions: fierceness and joy and sorrow and anger, all mixed together with the distinct smell of Human and Cotton Sock and possibly some ink.

Len hopes the ink means that Mick's started writing stories on that ridiculous old typing machine of his again. He'd stopped, at some point, and Len had always regretted that.

Len spends a good minute or two getting high on inhaling some fresh fruit that's sitting in a bowl - so good, even if he suspects that banana is as long as he is - before toddling off in search of something new. Something interesting.

Something like -

Oooh, there's beer!

"No you don't," Mick says, lifting the can and putting it on the other table - across an endless chasm, as far as Len's concerned right now. "No beer for you."

Len growls, then yips in alarm as Mick picks him up.

What is -

Is that a _bottle_?

Oh, _fuck that_. No. _Absolutely not_. 

Len might be a puppy, but he's got his dignity. What with his mom, that was one thing, he couldn't help himself, but letting _Mick_ give him a _bottle_? 

No way.

Len's changed his mind: he can _totally_ handle regular food - he thinks - and anyway Mick's not going to get that bottle down his throat, no matter what he says or does.

Len squirms valiantly in search of an escape.

It doesn't help that Mick's a goddamn giant, but Len's determined and slippery when he wants to be. There's no prison he hasn't yet successfully escaped, and if that list has to include Mick's grasp, then so be it. He's getting out of here!

A few futile wiggles later, he has to concede that, okay, so he's not getting out of here.

But at the very least he's not drinking any of the milk!

"C'mon, puppy," Mick says gently. "For me? Please?"

...Fine. 

But only because Mick asked nicely, because Len's _really_ hungry and because the milk smells weirdly enticing. 

That's the _only_ reason he's giving in.

Much to Len's annoyance, the milk tastes _amazing_.

It's very fatty - cow, or maybe sheep, he's not sure, but he can't seem to stop gnawing at the bottle lid with his tiny milk teeth to try to get more of it.

(If anyone else comes in and catches them at this, Len is going to _riot_. Bad enough Mick has to see this.)

Luckily, they remain alone for the duration of the feeding.

"You're pretty good when you want to be, aren't you?" Mick says musingly, putting away the bottle as Len hiccups a bit. "I wonder what I should call you."

"Len is fine," Len tries to say. "Boss or buddy or, hell, Cold are acceptable alternatives."

It comes out a series of barks.

Interspersed by hiccups.

"Gotta think it over," Mick decides. "C'mon, you can sleep in my bed until we get back into the regular timeline so that Gideon can make you a bed and shit."

Can't she do that now?

"Yeah, I know, apparently the replicator needs to siphon raw materials from the surrounding environment to make new things," Mick says, presumably in response to Len's questioning whine. "And whatever they siphon in affects what gets created or something. Who knew? It ain't Star Trek, though, that's for sure."

Interesting vulnerability.

Not that Len's ever going to need to use it, of course. Even if he wasn't a puppy, he's among friends. 

Sort of.

He's pretty sure Sara wouldn't have suggested neutering if she'd known who he was. About 90% sure, anyway.

In the meantime, though, his belly is nice and full, his hiccups are subsiding under Mick's warm hand rubbing his back soothingly, and he's being carried in the direction of a bed.

Clearly, it's time for another nap.

(Stupid instincts.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking suggestions for what poor puppy Len's name is going to be - any thoughts?
> 
> (If it helps, it'll be described more next chapter, but he's a mutt, part husky/part spaniel, with big blue eyes, black-grey-white fur, big floppy ears, and an excessive sense of both drama and curiosity.)


	3. What's in a Name?

On one hand (paw?), Len is pathetically grateful to be back with Mick once more. Just seeing his partner again, when he'd just about lost all hope, is everything he could've wanted and more.

On the other, though, does Mick really need to sleep for _so long_?

Clearly not. 

It's unhealthy, that's what it is.

Len's doing Mick a _favor_ when he sticks his nose into Mick's ear and slobbers on him till he wakes up.

Really.

No matter what Mick might be saying – or, more accurately, cursing.

"You want more to eat, huh?" Mick finally asks, rubbing his face.

Len _totally_ woke Mick up out of concern for his health - but if more food is on the _offer_ , well, you know, he’s not going to _refuse_...

He's a growing puppy, damnit. 

"Food every two hours is apparently normal at your age," Mick said sleepily, heading to the kitchenette corner in his room. "So, I guess it ain't your fault."

Hmph. As if Len would be motivated by something so base as biology.

(Oh, but that milk is _good_. Hits the spot just right. God, he was so hungry.)

A satisfactory feeding later, Mick puts Len down on the ground and opens the door. "C'mon," he grunts, tossing on a robe - clearly a Legends-imposed requirement, because Mick still sleeps proudly nude as always. "I'd better get you out of here before you decide to piss."

Actually, on that subject, Len's pretty sure he saw - ah, good, there it is.

Mick's still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, which is probably why it takes him a second to catch up to what Len is doing, and on what.

"Wait, no, puppy, that's _Sara's_ \- welp, nevermind, that's a lost cause right there." Mick sighs. "I'll tell Sara she needs to get a new pack before the next mission. And maybe clean this one. She'd better not try to make _me_ clean it, when she shouldn’t have left it hanging around where a puppy in search of revenge could get to it..."

Len gives his best "I'm an innocent puppy, really" grin.

Mick gives him a beady-eyed glare. "Don't think I'm not onto you."

Len's smile fades for a moment, then comes back at twice the strength. Mick's figured it out? Already? Thank God! Maybe they can skip ahead to figuring out a good way for Len to communicate, or maybe even to turning him back into a human so that -

"You're trouble, that's what you are," Mick announces.

...oh.

Len whines and slumps down, a process that involves just giving up on this whole standing business and splaying out on all fours like the weight of the world has come crashing down on his puppy shoulders.

"Hey, I didn't mean that," Mick said, crouching down. "It's okay, you're a good boy deep down - yes, that's right, a _good_ boy -"

Len is _not_ a good boy.

Len isn't even a good _puppy_. 

And he _likes_ it that way, damnit! He's a bad, bad man! He’s a supervillain and proud of it, except that right now he's a goddamn puppy. 

Near-newborn puppies are not, despite Len’s best efforts, very intimidating. 

"C'mon, back to bed."

Fine. But only for a bit, and then Len's waking Mick up again out of sheer spite!

...and possibly hunger.

"Don't know what your mom was thinking letting you wander off this young," Mick comments.

Len nips at one of his fingers, aiming to get him with one of the few milk teeth that have fully grown in so that it will sting.

_Don't talk about my mom like that. Not even you, Mick._

Mick chuckles and pets his head and yawns a bit, heading back to his room, his eyes already heavy.

Len huffs, then frowns, picking up a strange scent.

He cranes his neck as far out as he can, just barely able to see around Mick.

It's the new guy - Nate.

He's not doing anything, just standing there, staring blankly down the hallway. He doesn't move or say hi or anything - Mick clearly missed his presence there entirely, and Len would have, too, if his new sense of smell wasn't so strong. 

Len yips a tentative greeting, giving a vague wag of the tail, but there's no response and anyway Mick is taking Len away at speed, so there's no time to investigate.

Weird.

Whatever, Nate's sleepwalking issue isn't Len's business.

A few hours later, the Legends all gather in the med bay, which seems to Len like a weird-ass place to meet given the existing presence of a bridge designed specifically for that purpose, but their intention quickly becomes clear.

"Surely the temporal energy doesn't keep you from doing a scan at _all_ , right, Gideon?" Zari asks.

"I can do a surface scan," she says. "And determine health, albeit superficially. For some reason, my DNA scanners can't seem to make head or tails of him."

Head or tails. Heh. Because he has a tail now.

Len finds that said tail wagging in approval entirely without his consent.

He’s going to really enjoy the dog puns.

"Well, what's your verdict, then?" Sara asks.

"He's a very healthy male puppy, with no serious diseases or other issues that I can determine. Comparing his appearance to other images I have, I would estimate an age somewhere a little over two weeks old, though I'm unsure how much older given the temporal issue."

"What breed is he?" Nate asks, giving his fingers for a lick.

Len is tempted - so many interesting smells! - but he pointedly turns his back on Nate to give Zari's fingers some attention. He's pretty sure Nate was on the pro-castration side of things, even if he didn't speak up, and anyway it makes Zari laugh in delight and Nate mutter under his breath about favoritism and it's not even Amaya...!

So, you know, _there_.

"He appears to be a mix of breeds," Gideon announces. 

"So, a mutt," Sara says. "He fits right in already."

"But what breeds?" Nate asks. "That could impact his behavior and needs and - stuff."

"Stuff," Amaya says, amused.

"Hey, I know _something_ about dogs. Not much, I admit, but..."

"I believe there is a significant proportion of husky," Gideon says. "Thereby accounting for the coloration, general form, and blue eyes - though those might be a puppy feature that darken as he gets older."

"Those ears aren't even slightly husky," Amaya objects.

"That's correct - some sort of spaniel, I would estimate, given the size of his ears and - ah - their proportion to his body -"

Len'll grow into them.

"He'll grow into 'em," Mick says.

Len loves Mick. Wise man. 

"Hold up," Sara says, eyeing the ears. "How big is he going to get? We don't have enough space for a full-on herding dog here -"

"Huskies are working dogs, not herding dogs, I think," Ray says helpfully from where he's lurking by the door. "And Mick can take him on walks around the ship, or outside once we land."

"If we take him outside, he'll get lost," Zari objects, reaching out to rub Len under the chin.

"He can barely walk or regulate his own temperature right now," Mick grunts. "Doesn't exactly seem like an urgent issue."

"Barely walking or not, he still made his way onto the Waverider," Sara reminds him.

"Should we chip him?" Nate asks.

Len sniffs. Nate's the one who ought to be chipped, what with that sleepwalking habit.

"Not at this age," Amaya says firmly.

"Perhaps a small collar could be fashioned," Gideon suggests. "And the tracking chip placed under the nameplate."

Len sighs noisily. It's not like he hadn't been expecting to be collared eventually, given his shape.

Luckily he didn't have any bad associations with collaring, unless you count a certain period of never-to-be-spoken-of-again bad fashion choices back in the 90s...

The Legends, however, met Gideon's announcement with an almost stunned silence.

"Oh, man," Nate says, breaking it after a moment, "his _name_. Mick, have you named him yet, or can we help?"

"Well..." Mick said cautiously. 

"No, no, please, let us help!"

"I still get veto power," Mick warns. 

What about Len? _Len_ should get veto power. 

Personally, he's quite fond of "Boss" as an acceptable dog-like name -

"How about Spot?"

For _shame_ , Nate. He doesn't even have spots! Coloration markings, yes, but not _spots_.

"No, no, Nate, not Spot," Ray says. "He doesn't have spots."

At least Mr. Castration-Is-Good-For-Dogs has _some_ decent opinions.

"He's more black-and-white," Ray continues. "How about Oreo? Or Newsie, short for newspaper?"

Ugh. Positive statement retracted.

"No," Mick says. "Just - no."

"How about Joe?" Amaya suggests. "Or - Carl, maybe? Oh, I know! Rex!"

Len puts his head down and covers his head with his paws, whining pathetically.

"I think even the puppy thinks that's a no go," Sara says, snickering. "Sorry, Amaya."

"It's okay," Amaya says. "He's cute enough; I'll forgive him anything."

Len's traitorous tail gives a wag at that.

"How about something more thematic?" Zari suggests.

"Thematic?" Mick asks, sounding skeptical.

Len's not sure why; he loves things with a theme. If he has to be Heatwave's dog, then he might as well get named something appropriate. Flame or Explosion or Heatpup something -

No.

_Hot Dog_. 

He can just see it now in a newscaster voice: “Here comes Heatwave, famed supervillain, and his trusted sidekick, Hot Dog…!”

Len sniggers, though it mostly comes off as a dry sort of huffing.

...he'd better stop that before they decide to name after Muttley or something.

(He’s far more of a Dick Dasterdly!)

“I’ve got an idea,” Zari says.

"Oh?" Sara asks. “What were you thinking?”

"Well, Mick is going to be the primary owner, right?" Zari says with a shrug. "We could match the dog to the owner."

C'mon, make the Hot Dog joke! Do it! It's _right there_!

"Something heat related, you mean?" Sara asks. "To match 'Heatwave'?"

"No, that's too obvious," Zari says. "I was thinking more of a contrast - Snowflake, or Snowy -"

"Oooh, Frosty!" Nate exclaims. “Cold Miser!”

"Or you could do the exact opposite of Mick's," Amaya says, "and call him 'Coldwave' -"

"No," Mick says flatly. "Nothing with Cold."

Len had been pretty much in favor of the names, no matter how dumb - he loves a good cold pun - but Mick's voice...

He's in pain. 

Len whines, pulling his head out from under his paws and trying to go to Mick at once. It's his fault Mick is in such pain, his fault, he was the one who abandoned his partner like that and therefore only he can make it right. He might not be able to fix it, he's too small to do that, but he'll go and snuggle him and lick him and nip at his fingers till he feels better -

On his hurried way over to Mick, though, Len trips.

Over his own goddamn _ear_.

"- sensitive subject," Sara is murmuring when Len goes flying, and then she's not murmuring, she's laughing.

_Everyone_ is laughing.

Even Mick, which is Len's sole consolation. Maybe it wasn't exactly how he was thinking of cheering Mick up, but whatever, it worked. 

"Maybe we should call him Floppy," Ray says. "After his big old floppy ears -"

Len rights himself and growls at Ray.

"Awww," Sara coos. "Lil puppy don't like that."

"You named your last pet after a musician, right?" Nate asks. "Guns and Roses? What about something else like that?"

"Oh, I know!" Ray exclaims.

Oh, God, no.

"You could name him Tevye! After Fiddler on the Roof! That's your favorite musical, right?"

...okay, that one's not too bad. At least it respects Len's Judaism.

(Does Len have to be circumcised again now that he’s been reborn? He _really_ hopes not. That was one experience he was very happy to not be aware during.)

"Maybe Fiddler would be easier?" Zari suggests. "Or Fiddlesticks? I like Fiddlesticks."

"I already know what I'm gonna call him," Mick says. "I thought of it last night."

They all look at him, even Len.

He's still hoping for 'Boss'.

"That puppy's name is _Trouble_."

...yeah, that's fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish to give full credit to everyone's wonderful suggestions in the comments to chapter 2, all of which were great and very fitting, and also extremely helpful for writing this chapter :) hopefully work will go quiet again and I'll be able to write more of this soon!


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